


Pride of a Slave

by Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves



Series: Ekleipsis [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ekleipsis, Elves, Essanti, First Time, Gang Rape, Gangbang, M/M, Wild Steppe, barbarians - Freeform, defloration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves/pseuds/Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a training raid in the steppes warriors of a nomad barbaric tribe cross paths with five elves from the Great Forest. One of the elves is taken alive by the Chief himself, now it's time to him to learn obedience if he wants to live.<br/>Actually he will live, to be one of the main characters in the novel 'Ekleipsis', and those are events that directly precede the novel (which is coming some time later).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride of a Slave

The elves fought like they didn’t care if they live or die. They probably didn’t. There was had nowhere to run, the Essanti had them completely surrounded. The forest creatures now carried a desperate struggle trying not so much to defend themselves as to take with them to the underworld as many enemies as possible. Two of them had longbows and released arrows fast and smooth right from the horseback. The other three were armed with strange curved blades, each mounted on a three-foot hilt with a longer reach than even famous Essanti longswords. They didn’t let anyone come close to the archers.

The curved blades mowed down the Essanti warriors like grass, and deadly arrows rained down on them, striking sometimes a shield and sometimes a throat. The elves had their charmed armor on, the one that couldn’t be pierced even with a spear, and the Essanti arrows did them no harm.

Finally someone managed to put an arrow through the slit of an elf’s helmet. The elf fell on the ground, under the horse hooves.

“Bad score,” Inagi said, frowning. “That’s their one to our ten.”

Like Kintaro didn’t see for himself. Mere boys, those ‘warriors’, who hardly knew what to do with a sword in hand. The raid was supposed to be for practice. Had he ten veterans with him today, they would crush those creatures in a heartbeat, their fancy scythes notwithstanding.

The horse under one of the elven archers neighed and toppled sideward with an arrow trembling in its side. Kintaro winced. One should not kill a horse. Never.

The elf jumped off the falling horse and tried to pull out his sword. He was dealt a blow across the helmet with a sword’s flat, then another, a lethal one through the neck after he fell to his knees.

The second archer went on shooting, unruffled, letting his arrows loose with a speed of lightning. Absent-mindedly Kintaro raised his round shield, and a green-feathered elven arrow hit it with a low twang. The Essanti chief pulled it out, annoyed, and threw it on the ground.

“Puppies! Do they have a deaf wish? The Anasazi are too strong meat for them.”

Akira grinned. “It’s their piece of meat, Chief. They either chew it down or choke on it.”

“Someone should teach them how to fight,” Kintaro said through clenched teeth.

He hung up his shield to the side of the saddle and spurred his horse with his heels.

He rushed into the middle of the fight with a deafening war cry, scattering young warriors before him. An elven blade flashed, and he parried it with the sword in his right hand. His left hand snatched out his belt knife from its sheath and threw it at his opponent. The elf wheezed, dropped his weapon and grabbed his throat with both hands. The knife’s handle protruded between his bloody fingers right under the helmet strap.

Kintaro pushed his horse aside and found himself face to face with the archer who had an arrow aimed straight at his heart. There was nothing to be done except making the horse rear off sharply, covering himself from the shot. Kintaro felt the arrow struck his horse’s neck. _Forgive me, Black, my boy_.

His wounded horse plunged down on all fours. Kintaro had just enough time to grab his shield and catch the elf’s blade on it — the enemy had already cast aside his now useless bow. They rapidly exchanged blows, and Kintaro quickly found a fault in his opponent’s defense. He sneered and drove his sword into the elf’s side, right into his impenetrable armor, but with such force that the Anasazi had lost his breath for a split second. Using the moment, Kintaro dealt him a terrible blow into his helmet-covered face, by the edge of his iron-bound shield. It was enough to unsaddle the elf and throw him to the ground. At the same moment the last Anasazi standing fell down, forever quiet with an Essanti dagger in his eye-socket.

The unhorsed archer stirred and began to rise leaning heavily on the long hilt of his sword.

“No one is to touch him!” Kintaro yelled, sprang from his horse, and his warriors lowered their weapons at once.

The elf removed his dented helmet showing a pale face with delicate features and ash-blond hair. As pretty as a doll, that elf, even despite a huge bruise on his cheekbone.

Now he was standing on his own two feet, only slightly trembling. Was every Anasazi that strong? Kintaro was used to anyone unhorsed by him in battle not being able to stand for a very long time, if at all.

The elf got a better grip on his sword hilt and looked around like a fox at bay surrounded by hounds. Grinning, Kintaro stepped forward, made a playful salute with his longsword and attacked. The elf had some fencing skill, rather good one too, but Kintaro was stronger, not tired or blow-stunned. So the Anasazi had neither chance of winning, nor even that of a honorable death in combat. Almost with contempt Kintaro knocked the enemy’s sword out of his hand with a trick blow and kicked him in the ribs. The armor notwithstanding, the elf doubled over and slipped to the ground on his knees, his mouth open, desperately gasping for air.

Inagi took Kintaro by the shoulder and made him turn around.

“You fight like a god!” he gasped, beaming with admiration.

The Chief grabbed his lover tightly in his arms and kissed him greedily, pushing his tongue into Inagi’s mouth. A good fight always made him horny. Inagi answered his kiss with equal passion, until Kintaro pushed him away, trying to breathe. Smiling, Inagi moved behind the elf and jerked his chin back, baring his throat.

“May I finish him?” He pressed his knife to the elf’s skin. “I want to have an Anasazi kill under my belt too.”

The elf’s face showed no emotion, his eyes were shaded with long eyelashes. Kintaro gave him a long thoughtful look. Nice catch, very rare. Few managed to take an elf alive. They believed to prefer death to being captured by barbarians. Even captured they didn’t stay alive for much longer. Well, once his warriors were through playing with him, he could be sold to some Northern merchant.

“Leave him be, Inagi. We’ll take him along.”

“You’re kidding, right? A forest creature makes a lousy servant. I wouldn’t trust him even with gathering wood and making fire.”

“He’ll serve with his ass, that doesn’t require much skill. He’ll learn pretty soon.”

Inagi gave him a puzzled look. “Kintaro, are you mad? Nobody would bed an Anasazi.”

“Why? Has he no suitable holes?”

“He probably has, but that’s not the point! He might bewitch us or infect with some deadly disease. It’s known!”

The other warriors murmured their approval. Some of them even cried, “Let the sleeping dog lie, kill him!”

“Silence!” Kintaro yelled. “You mollies! How could you believe in such fairytales! I bet the Anasazi themselves made it up, to make their captors afraid to fuck them!”

“Fuck him yourself if you’re so eager. I definitely won’t.” Inagi sheathed his knife and let go of the captive.

“No one forces you,” Kintaro laughed, and some of the warriors followed suit.

The idea of fucking an Anasazi seemed more attractive to them by the minute.

The Chief ordered, “Take his armor and clothes off. Loot his dead comrades, take everything of value, and bury them. Ours we’ll take to the camp. Skin the dead horse, load the meat on a spare one. Inagi, tend to Black’s wound.”

The elf was still on his knees, only lowered his head. Blood trickled down from one of his nostrils. It seemed even an Anasazi could not withstand a blow by an Essanti shield unscathed. He was akin to human after all.

The elf did not resist being undressed. Kintaro watched his snow-white skin appear from beneath his armor and fancy clothes. Didn’t they get suntan or what? Or did they never walk about naked? He caught himself thinking again how pretty the elf was, how well-built, with a thin waist, narrow hips and all. The real goods. What would it be like to taste an elf? To settle between those long slender legs, to take pleasure inside this marvelous body. Come to think of it, no one probably had done it before. No one had touched him yet. An elf’s skin was silky to the touch, they said...

Those thoughts inflamed Kintaro’s desire even more. After the elf was stripped of the last piece of clothing, the Chief ordered his warriors to step aside. Without any rush he unwound his deer-skin loincloth,  and his cock stood up proudly, pointing at the zenith and yearning to be buried into warm tight flesh.

The elf’s pale cheeks turned slightly pink, and he hurriedly averted his gaze. As if he’d never seen a naked human male before. He was like innocence and purity personified, hardly being able to guess what Kintaro intended to do to him. Probably the prudent elvish tales concerning barbarians didn’t go into much more details than vague hints about all sorts of terrible things they do to their poor captives.

Grinning, Kintaro took the elf by the shoulder, threw him on his back and pinned him down with his own body. Instinctively the elf tried to resist, to break free; his eyes widened with fear and disgust. He was amazingly strong and muscular despite his delicate built, no easy feat to hold him down by oneself. Kintaro had never believed in fairytales telling about the Anasazi’s superhuman stamina and strength. But now he had an example right in front of him, or rather underneath him. Anybody else beside the Essanti Chief would probably be unable to restrain the elf on his own.

The naïve little elf still couldn’t get what was coming. Even when Kintaro thrust his knee between his legs and tried to force them open, clasping the elf’s thin wrists with his hands. The elf jerked with unexpected strength and nearly managed to throw the barbarian off him. Kintaro swore, let go of the elf’s hands and slapped him on the face, hard enough to make his ears ring.

“Hold his hands,” he commanded, and the elf’s wrists were pinned down to the ground above his head.

Kintaro gave the once-over to the lithe body stretched beneath him. A luxurious, rare, precious prize. He didn’t refuse himself a pleasure to stroke the elf’s flat belly. What a skin, oh steppe gods! Snow-white with the tinge of pearl, smooth, silky, unblemished, without a single hair or birthmark, and strangely cool to the touch.

His palm moved lower, caressed the elf’s groin, the inside of his thigh, squeezed his firm ass. Then Kintaro shoved his fingers into the tight hole between the elf’s buttocks. The elf uttered a muffled sound and thrashed desperately, trying to break free, his gaze suddenly mad with terror. Kintaro slapped him again, and for a few moment the stunned captive almost stopped resisting. The Chief was quick to seize the opportunity. He forced his legs apart and dragged him closer, raising his thighs a little to give himself better access to his ass, so sweet, so tight, oh yeah, he wanted it so much...

“Let’s see whether you are as tender inside as on the outside.”

Upon saying it Kintaro penetrated him roughly, forcibly, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of his thighs. The elf was breathless from pain, he couldn’t make a sound at first, and then he arched his back and screamed, and kept screaming the whole time the Chief drove his cock deeper and deeper, inch by merciless inch into his tight yet pliable flesh.

“Scream, dolly, scream, it’s more exciting this way,” Kintaro gasped through heavy breaths.

He leant harder on the elf and began to thrust.

The elf was so unbelievably tight, he trembled underneath the Chief so sweetly, clenching his inner muscles, it nearly made Kintaro come right away. He started to fuck the elf like he was used to — fiercely, greedily, roughly. Now the elf fell silent, biting his lip till it bled, his eyes tightly shut. He only sobbed quietly with each powerful thrust shaking his entire body, and those pitiful sounds turned Kintaro on even more. The elf should be racked with pain now while the Chief was cruelly tearing up his tight virgin hole with each move. Kintaro gave in completely to taking his pleasure: the sweet tightness squeezing his cock, the touch of firm buttocks pressed to his thighs, the feel of that splendid body stretched under him, yielding to him, belonging to him, which he had in his complete power, possessed utterly, fully, deeply.

Kintaro felt the boiling-hot wave of the orgasm go through his body. He shuddered and froze while the hot stream of his semen pour out into the elf, burning his brand into the flesh of his captive. He was first to have lain with him, there was no way to erase it now, to wash it off, to forget. Soon the elf would lose count to those who had taken their turns with him, but him, Kintaro, he would remember always, till the end of his days. The thought was strangely pleasant, satisfying.

When he let go of the elf and stood up, the elf was still conscious. He curled up on the ground, hugging himself, hiding his face as if it could protect him. The rape left traces of blood on his buttocks. Not so tough after all, those Anasazi. Kintaro wondered how many men the elf could endure before passing out. Ten, twenty? He would find out soon enough, on his own back, literally. He was the Chief’s captive but Kintaro didn’t intend to keep him all to himself. The booty belonged to the whole tribe, and a good chief must not deprive his warriors of entertainment. Besides, Inagi was better in bed. Maybe not so tight and sweet, but hot as hell and always eager.

He made a sigh, stopping his warriors ready to follow suit and give the elf another go.

“Tie him down and fling him across a horse. At the next stop he is yours.”

 

Leaning on Inagi’s knees with his back, Kintaro lazily sipped his vine and watched the scuffle by the fire. He winced with disgust time and again when nobody was looking. He had lived among his tribe for ten years now, for three of which had been their chief. He thought he had got used to anything. Yet needless cruelty and brutality still bothered him, to his own surprise. His warriors didn’t want to simply fuck the elf senseless. No, they wanted to break his spirit, to wrench obedience out of him. Maybe as a payback for their humiliation in battle. Maybe just for sport.

Kintaro couldn’t help but feel vague respect for the Anasazi’s pride. Yet he was a slave now, he should be tamed, his pride subdued. He would either submit himself to be a  bed-slave, a whore who spread his legs for anybody, or die. And Kintaro somehow was sure the elf wanted to live.

They cut off his ties — no fun to fuck someone tightly restrained — and now he fought desperately, even though there were more than ten sturdy young men around him who wanted to have a go. He still wouldn’t yield, wouldn’t stop fighting his assailants despite the beating they gave him. It was his silence that irritated warriors the most, prevented them to enjoy the game to the full. But Kintaro had the foresight to forbid especially brutal measures, in order to keep a valuable slave more or less intact.

“The one who kills him will go to the Great Forest and bring me another one, understood?” he said, and the threat in his voice was too clear for anyone to dare talk back.

Little by little the messy scuffle became a contest, who would manage to wring a cry of pain out of the elf. The winner would use him first after the Chief himself. Yet the elf obstinately refused to make a sound while being hit, whipped, even cut with knives which left bloody patterns on his body. Finally they lost patience and just drew lots. They still had to hold him down because he kept fighting, though weaker and weaker after each rape. After some time they felt safe to use his pretty mouth, and took him from both ends.

Because of his being a warrior, an excellent archer who alone had wounded or killed about a dozen of their comrades, they wanted him more, not less. Steppe nomads were highly superstitious, they believed the one who fucked a good warrior would get a bit of his valor, strength and battle prowess.

The elf was a good warrior. And a good warrior always knew when to yield. The elf yielded after the fourth or fifth rapist. Now he lay still, not trying to break loose, allowing to use him every each way. Kintaro thought he would make a nice whore for the tribe. A sweet little elf slut. If he couldn’t earn the right to live with his sword, let him earn it with his ass.

After a few months when his warriors had grown bored with the new toy it could be easily sent away. At the first opportunity Kintaro would sell him to the North or to the South, to so-called civilized people. Sooner rather than later the King of Creede would send somebody to secure an alliance with the Essanti Chief against the Enquins that troubled his borders. If the envoy was hot, Kintaro could make him a present of the elf. Would be fun, he thought. Yeah, he would do just that.

After all, the elf had chosen his own fate coming into the Wild steppe. And Kintaro never believed there was fate worse than death. He was a pragmatist.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. The envoy of Creede (named Alva Akhayre) will arrive, he will turn out to be hot, and Kintaro will give the elf to him, under one small condition, and that's exactly the beginning of _Ekleipsis_ XD  
>  P.P.S. The name of the elvish race given by the humans in the original was _the Ancients_. _Anasazi_ is a word from a native-American language, meaning just that - 'the Ancient ones'. I wanted to try it, does it sound proper here? I was told that to call an elf 'Ancient' would throw off the reader, like he was an old and decrepit creature.


End file.
